Chapter 88

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Over dinner, Dante’s mother says, “So that’s Ryan.” It’s not a question and he’s not quite sure how to answer it, so he doesn’t reply. Instead he cuts the tortillas on his plate into tiny triangles, flattens them with his fork until the refried beans inside ooze out in a brown paste, and wonders what she thought of his boyfriend. What did she say? A little pale but that’s okay. Pretty hair. Lovely boy.“Is he always that shy?”

“Not around me,” Dante tells her.

She nods as if that’s what she expected. “That’s good then,” she says, scooping a forkful of rice into her mouth. As she chews, she watches him thoughtfully and he wants to ask her what’s on her mind. “You say he’s in therapy?” she asks. “For his legs?”